Twas the Night Before Christmas
by Sajoli
Summary: Short Christmas oneshot. Slightly odd.


Jack Fenton's great salt-and-pepper head peeked around the corner into the living room. His big eyes shone with the soft, quiet light from the innumeral strands of Christmas lights wrapped around the mighty pine tree as he gingerly stepped into the lovingly decorated room. His large feet were dainty and careful in their clumsy black Wellingtons, moving with care over the smooth carpet towards the centerpiece of the chamber – the tree.

His wife watched from the darkest edge of the room, arms crossed in puzzlement and mouth creased in a frown. She wore her bath robe over her pajamas and held a weak mug of decaffeinated tea in her hands. Her thumbs rubbed out circles on the warm cup while her eyes followed the movements of her partner.

Jack hummed "Deck the Halls" as he worked, apparently oblivious to his wife's attentions. His hands, encased in warm red mittens, delicately picked out brightly packaged boxes and bags and laid each one tenderly against the trees' tremendous trunk. "Falalalala, lalalala…" he murmured.

His wife watched him work, observing the assuredness with which he operated, catching the carefulness in how he placed the gifts, and scrutinizing the smile that sat serenely on his big face. She stopped her troubled twiddling with her tea to take a silent sip, eyes never leaving the big man. As he stood back to happily take in his handiwork, she said with exhausted intonation, "Jack?" Her voice was almost reluctant in the spell of silence that had previously pervaded the place. "Jack, honey, please come to bed."

"In a minute, Maddie," the giant said. He hitched up his coal-colored belt; his cherry red pants were slipping, even with his enormous abdomen to fill it in. "Just admiring this year's tree."

Indeed, that year's tree was impressive. It was a deep green Douglas, at least eight feet tall. Its piney scent was strong enough to soak the whole house in its intensity. The very top of the evergreen was tipped with a golden star the size of Maddie's fist, the fist of a hand that had sewn strands of popcorn and pomegranate seeds perfectly together and then wrapped them willy-nilly around the tree's boughs, boughs so heavy with ornaments that they nearly dragged on the floor, the floor so thoroughly covered in bags and bundles and boxes and bows that only with imagination could it be seen. Indeed, the tree was impressive that year.

Maddie minded his request, her face a little sad. Jack beamed benevolently. A minute passed.

"Jack," Maddie said.

"Okay," Jack said, and turned around. In her defense, Maddie barely winced at the sight of the winding, snow-white beard that was attached to his chin. The big man walked to her. "Mistletoe," he teased.

Though there was no mistletoe, and both of them knew it, Maddie went on tip-toe to kiss her husband. The beard was scratchy and unpleasant on her cheeks, but she ignored it. It was only once a year, she reflected. She could handle this.

But still her heart gave an unpleasant twinge when she saw the red hat with white trimmings slip down her happy husband's head. She reached up, her fingers barely brushing the rim, and pulled it off him, the hat oddly heavy in her hand. She looked quizzically down at. Jack grinned at her unspoken question. "It's for you," he said.

"Oh! Oh, Jack, really, I couldn't, it's not Christmas yet, and…" and you're still wearing that awful suit, she finished in her head.

"Go on, it's okay," Jack said. "Santa says so."

With a shaky breath, Maddie reached inside the hat. Her fingers closed on something hard; she lifted it up to the light, and gasped.

"Merry Christmas, Maddie," Jack said.

Maddie smiled, her first real smile that night, and held the item close to her chest. "Thank you, Jack," she said, and took his arm to lead him to bed.

She could handle this, she thought. It was only once a year.

But a small part of her wished Christmas happened a little more often, despite the arguments and the differences and the stress that was the night of Christmas Eve. It might be worth it, she thought, if every year she got so wonderful a gift from her dear, if sometimes a little odd, husband.

She had _wondered_ where her engagement ring had gone to.

Merry Christmas, from a fellow Danny Phantom fan!

(written at midnight while playing Zelda and not read over, so forgive any weirdness/mistakes!)


End file.
